


Such a simple oversight

by DissidiumDianthus



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: F/M, Implied Relationships, Light Dom/sub, Pet Names, Shower Sex, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24679681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DissidiumDianthus/pseuds/DissidiumDianthus
Summary: You and Dante have gone out for a fancy dinner together, and you thought it would be fun to try something new and adventurous without being too obvious about it.How will he take the invitation, once you get home?
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Kudos: 34





	Such a simple oversight

**Author's Note:**

> After a long time spent without properly writing a fic, I'm debuting with this again!  
> It's a bit out of my comfort zone since I tend to work on lengthy writings, but I tried to keep it simple and imaginative here!
> 
> Dedicating it to my dear   
> It's a rework of an idea I already showed you, but I hope you don't mind it in this new dress ;)

There's something feral in the way he looks at you as you remove the silk from your shoulders, wide black pupils swallowing too much of his sky eyes as he lowers his gaze to the thin line of your neck,  
rolling along the tip of your shoulder to finally land on the soft hills of your bosom, nipples barely visible from his position. He has to thank his height, the one that permits him to tower over you, for the secret perk he's taking.   
Formally, you're undressing to surprise him with the vision of you naked as soon as you turn towards your man. But you know he's already noticed there's no bra to contain your chest, he's looked a few too many times at it as you were dining together. You're also aware of what he does to you, what effects the way he slowly drags his tongue across his lips bears. What's more, it is a game, unfair for the most part, that you enjoy each time. It's a dance, made of teasing and responding, of craving a reaction and getting burned by it, the fire so hot the throat scratches and the heart fastens in its run, still too slow to contain the warmth that spreads between your legs.  
He can sense you like to be watched, sees the way your muscles tense sweetly, smells your scent even when you're across the room. It's an intoxicating aroma, ancestral and titillating, something that transforms him into a beast he didn't know he could be, that makes him ache for the desire to make him his, to claim you.  
But he is, nonetheless, a gentleman of sorts. So he waits, patiently, for you to finish, and is in utter awe as soon as you turn to him. The lack of support on your breasts, he could make out. But the lack of underwear hugging your hips ... that is something he couldn't predict. And he adores it.  
You take pride in the way he narrows his eyes as his grin widens, arching a little on the left corner, inviting you to kiss it. Normally Dante would be rushy, his lips already on your neck as his hands search for everything as if wanting to feast on you as much as possible before the dream fades.  
This night is different - he stays where you asked him to, watching you silently as you step into the shower, the fluid gesture of your finger a clear invitation. You had told him, after all, you wanted to freshen up after dinner and the long day that had just passed. Surely he didn't think you'd leave him out of such a pleasure, did he?  
There's a fumbling of clothes when you close the shower box, satinated glass preventing you to see. There's only a faint contour past the curtain of opaque screens and steam, a dark ghost subtly moving, shedding his red armour to uncover his true self. Despite the excitement, you can make out how he carefully places the suit on the furniture rather than dropping it to the floor, and it makes you happy. It's a gift from you, one you thought he wouldn't like, one he treasures almost religiously, despite wearing it so rarely.  
Your thoughts are brought back to reality when the lights are lowered. There's only enough time for you to turn, offering your back to the box opening, before the glass panels bloom, disclosing your body to scorching hot blue eyes.  
You don't see them, so busy pretending to be showering, but you can feel their heat as if he was eating you. And the wait is almost excruciating, frustrating in the cold air that whips your figure lavished by hot streams of water. But Dante is Dante, no matter what façade he puts on for the night. And ultimately, as always, you are his prey and his prize to claim.  
His lips are on the back of your neck before any other part of him touches you. It is infuriating in a positive way, but you can make out his cocky smile when you moan from a mere caress, letting out how much you want this, how much you want /him/.  
He is a brat, in this sense. He craves the chase but gorges himself in the knowledge of your lust, of your longing. And more than that, he likes to satisfy, to serve, to sate you and - as a result - him, as he presses his hips against the small of your back to let you know how hard is he just by looking at you.   
«Can you tell how bad you teased me the whole night? Making my blood boil in hunger while you played the naÏve, innocent angel?»  
The whisper against your hear is low and guttural, almost a warning growl. It makes your abdomen ache with desire and he feels it, perceives the tensing of your figure as he takes it in his arms, hands following the curve of your ribs as if he was their creator, their sculptor. He likes to feel the breathy laugh you let out under his fingertips when he moves towards your chest and grazes the underside of your breasts, likes to hear you whimper softly as he merely brushes, but doesn't grab.  
«You crave this, I can tell. You have the face of the heavens, but tear a man down to hell with no hesitation, I see.» - he doesn't let you respond, calloused fingers enveloping your bosom. His palms are big and boiling, their rough skin sending a pleasurable shiver through your whole body. This electricity is going to have you dead if he doesn't move.   
But Dante is good, he catches your hints, even when you're not even aware of throwing them in the first place. And he's more than happy to oblige when he starts playing with your nipples, carefully twisting them between his pads as he sinks his teeth in the soft flesh of your neck, sharp canines promising to live a mark along with the satisfied sucking of his lips. Was he a vampire, he would be draining the life out of you right now, seeing the lustful moan he makes when he can finally taste the main course of the evening. But he's barely a man, a slave of desire and thirst, in a desperate search for the divine that he finds against the hollow of your neck.  
The same sound he made, though higher in pitch and somewhat whinier, leaves your mouth and cleaves the air despite the running water, an invitation, a plea, an embarrassed begging, perhaps an encouragement as he bites you towards your shoulderblade, hands getting more possessive the more your scent fills his nostrils. Where you to know how strong it is now, how heady and inebriant it is to him, you'd be pleased with yourself, but you have nothing to get this from apart from the painful hardness of his cock, desperate to be touched and cared for, however reluctant to do so. Your devil hunter, you've come to know, doesn't mind the pain. In fact, he lusts for it, for the pinch of submission it instils in his veins, however dominant he might be with you.  
You move against him, to meet his erection and provide some relief, but he's quick to push you against the dark tiles of your shower, cheek burning for the sudden cold, nipples aching for the very same reason, the sensation of loss and stingy pleasure almost overwhelming.  
«No, kitten, not yet. You've been purposefully bad, don't you remember? And you know, bad girls gotta be disciplined...»  
Looking down at him for how the position allows is hard, but it is evident he's kneeling in front of your body, the pressure of his hand on your shoulder relieved and found again, this time with its twin on your thighs, slightly parted to provide a better view to the only member of your audience.  
It's hard not to whine in pleasure when he plants some lazy kisses on both of your legs as he gropes your buttcheeks, the touch faintly harsh, possessive as his blue gaze, barely visible with so many white locks in front of it.   
And this time, when his thumbs find your folds and spread them, you can't suppress a moan, one that sounds like his name, as a sinful poetry and a prayer.  
The hot water suddenly running against your opening doesn't help, on the verge of being too hot, but not enough to be unpleasant. Nor does the warning bite he gives just where your ass meets the thigh, the tender skin there turning of a nice purple already, as soon as he's done sucking and marking it.  
«...But I believe in positive reinforcement. So where should I start...»  
There's no room for protest or for an answer because when Dante sets his mind on something, there's nothing to be done about it. So those promising words are the last to be heard for a while before he sinks his face between your legs, tongue ravishing your senses in ecstasy as your inebriate him, your taste and moans the only thing that matter in the entire world.  
It's gonna be a long torture, you can tell, he's lazy in the way le laps at your clit, teasing your entrance when he reaches it without properly entering you.  
But you don't mind the frustration. Perhaps you should avoid your lingerie more often, if that's the result of such a simple oversight.


End file.
